I'm Here To Help
I encourage people to reach out to me when they need help. Mostly, because I like to talk about them behind their backs. But, also because I am a caring and deeply compassionate person. My favorite kind of phone call to get, is the one that starts with, "Mist, I have a Situation." I love Situations. I can be sure that whatever follows that sentence will be good.
I am not a helpful person by nature. The last time that I was helpful it was by accident. I still feel like the Mayor should have recognized me for single handedly stopping a purse snatcher by almost running over the guy with my car. Yes, I was putting on mascara while driving, but he had no business snatching purses and not looking both ways before crossing the street.
I wish that I had listened to the entire Situation before I offered to help. Now, I have a Situation of my own. I have promised to help my friend clean out her father's house. He'll be away until next March unless he is released early due to good behavior. This, according to my friend is the perfect time to get his house in order.
I was warned in advance that the condition of the house. The police removed several of her father's belongings as evidence, so we wouldn't have move anything heavy. She failed to ask me if I like the sensation of cat urine burning my nostrils. I could smell the house from the driveway. "How many cats does your dad have?" I asked. "One," she said and headed for the door as though she couldn't detect the smell.
I decided to roll up my sleeves and start helping clean out the house. I started in the liquor cabinet. Once I had cleaned that out, I decided to take a break.
I found a trash bag and spread it out so that I could sit down. My friend was steam cleaning the curtains. Always helpful, I told her not to waste her time cleaning them. It seemed to me that the only thing to do with the entire house was to burn it. And then, burn it again. Surely, her father has insurance. She ignored me. I whined that it was hot. Naturally, all of the windows had been painted shut years ago. I begged her to turn on the air conditioner in the window. "Trust me, you don't want me to do that," she said. "He got it from his neighbor, it smells like cat when it's on."
I was going to ask how that would make the situation worse, but I was overcome with the need to puke.
The toilet bowl had a delicate fringe on the inside. It fluttered like eyelashes when I flushed.
I am supposed to help her again on Sunday. Clearly, I cannot back out without a bigger, more important thing to pull me away. Someone will need to have a heart attack. But who will it be?